


Short Shorts

by achievewriting



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Ass Play, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Light Bondage, NSFW, Oral Sex, Rimming, Vaginal Sex, go fast eat ass, trevor collins is a power bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16648937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievewriting/pseuds/achievewriting
Summary: The shorts, a far cry from his usual wardrobe selection, were a souvenir from Extra Life. 'They’re comfortable,' he’d defended as you pulled them out of his dirty laundry.





	Short Shorts

What greater gift could a new gaming console give you than Trevor, bent around the back of the TV, elbow-deep in HDMI cords, with his bright pink short short-clad ass in the air? The Xbox in question lies in disarray on the living room floor, and you step around it as you wander over. The shorts, a far cry from his usual wardrobe selection, were a souvenir from Extra Life.  _ They’re comfortable, _ he’d defended as you pulled them out of his dirty laundry.

“Nice ass, Nora.”

A scoff of laughter comes from behind the TV, followed by a muffled  _ ‘Buy me dinner first.’ _

“I’m about to make you some, actually. Nothing wrong with a little dessert first, though.” You lean against the entertainment system cabinet, and run your hand up the back of his lean, pale thigh to rest on his ass.

“Greedy girl,” he accuses. He turns to you, standing at his full height as he considers you, like you’ve just asked him if he wants cinnamon or chocolate on his cappuccino. You step away from the cabinet to press yourself against him, arms circling his middle to grab his ass again. His hands slip under your shirt and rest on the sides of your ribs, thumbs idly stroking the underside of your breasts. “Greedy, greedy girl,” he hums with a quirk of his eyebrows. He’s chosen chocolate. He shakes his head and grins as he leans down to kiss you.

Trevor tastes like coffee, and there’s sweat on his top lip from wrestling with the TV. You place your hands either side of his neck and revel in it, your tongue demanding entrance when his lips begin to move with yours. One of the hands on your ribs slides up to cup your breast, the other tangles itself in your hair. Your fingertips press the skin of his throat, and your thumb strokes gently at his Adam’s apple. Knowing but still curious, you give the slightest of squeezes. To your delight, he makes the same little moan you’ve heard before. Fervent now, you pull him backwards to the sofa, tripping on unboxed console parts as you go—neither of you notice, too busy with one another’s tongues. Trevor sits heavily in the middle of the couch, and you make to kneel in front of him. He lifts his arms wide as if to rest the along the back of the couch but instead his fists are clenched and wrists presented to you. He looks up at you, and his Adam’s apple bobs with an apprehensive swallow. “Like before?”

You grin and turn to lean over the coffee table, ass up before him. You grab two controller charging cables—thick enough not to hurt, thin enough to yield to a knot. You turn in time to see him tear his eyes off your ass, and seize one of his wrists. Careful to wind the cord loose enough to wiggle in, but still tight enough to hold his forearm in place, you bind him to the horizontal beam across the back of the sofa. The knot you tie takes you a few attempts to get right. Secure, but quick to release. You feel Trevor watching you, see from the corner of your eye his chest swell with anticipation. You straddle his knees as you lean over to do the same with the other arm. Kiss his nose, his cheekbone, bite gently at his ear lobe, as you trace your fingers over the skin of his biceps, already taught under the black cables. You lean back and watch him test the knots, struggling against them half heartedly.

“Comfy?”

“Not for long,” he smirks.

You grin and lean down to kiss him with an open mouth, then relish how his mouth chases yours when you lean back. You grind into him, pleased to find he’s halfway hard, and watch his eyebrows furrow a little and his lips part with a small sigh at the friction. Quickly, you kiss him once more before climbing off his lap and kneeling in the space by his feet. Running your hands up his thighs, you feel the texture of his body hair, his cool skin, warmer near his hips when you slide your hands up through the legs of his shorts, fingers caressing the flesh above his arousal. You raise your eyebrow at him—he’s not wearing underwear. “Short shorts  _ and _ commando?”

“It’s my house, I’ll hang loose if I want to,” he quips back. Under his coy act, you can see the desperation—how badly he wants you to slide your hand over his bare cock. You remove the temptation and place your hands on his knees, spread his legs wide. You can see now that he’s completely erect, ridiculous hot pink fabric tight over his crotch. The knowledge of no underwear makes this unbearably delicious; the promise of taking your time is almost as frustrating and maddening as the physical binds you’d put him in to make it. Trevor squirms under your gaze, the clench of his thighs under your palms remind you of the task at hand.

Trevor gives a quick heavy breath at the feeling of your hand, light and delicate on his cock, through the jersey fabric of his shorts. You linger, your palm moulding gently around his shaft, fingers tracing soft figure-eights wherever they fall. You work down, cupping him, and his breathing continues to come quick and laboured. Hot under your touch as you stroke back and forth, feather-light. He stays surprisingly quiet, despite the odd sigh and the creak of rubber cables being pulled taught against the wooden beam of the couch. You want more. You want noise.

You get it when you ghost your knuckles against his taint, lightly, the way he does to you through your underwear just because he knows it drives you mad, makes you wet. So you know how the small friction of fabric on an area so soft and sensitive feels, how the smirk on your face makes him want to shove your hand down his pants, bury your fingers somewhere useful. Trevor’s half-gasp, half-moan makes your insides sing. His hips adjust themselves, sinking lower into the cushions and tilting his pelvis upwards. You watch him this time, as you take a finger and use the seam in the crotch of the shorts to your advantage, brushing the soft fabric again over the delicate skin between his legs. Head bowed, his eyes closed, sweating already. You cover his cock with your free hand, slow and gentle. You apply a little pressure, give him a proper stroke through the fabric, and his hips jump under your hand. You look again up to see his lips pursed, his eyes pleading, hair tostled even without the hand that would surely be fisted in it otherwise. He leans forward in his binds, his skin has turned red where it meets the cables. You think of the ice you’ll have to put on his wrists later, but push the concern back with the gentle hand you lay on his chest to settle him back into the couch.

Trevor lifts his hips and you pull his shorts down slowly, over his length, his thighs, his knees, until they fall to the floor. Without your prompt he spreads his legs again, and, hasty in your own want, you waste no time in leaning forward and taking the head of his cock in your mouth.

_ "Fuck!" _ The hiss of your name from his lips spurs you on. Your have to hold your own hair back as you begin to work him up and down, sucking softly. The taste of precum and the feeling of Trevor hot and hard against your tongue and the back of your throat is delightful. What your lips can’t reach you pump with your hand. He lifts his legs to prop his feet against the coffee table behind you, tilts his hips again. You look up, and  _ ‘please for the love of god’ _ might as well be written across Trevor’s forehead. His cock falls from your mouth with a soft pop, and you dip down to where he wants you. As your hand continues on his cock, you lap tentatively at the smooth skin below his package. The low, loud sigh he gives is enough to tell you to go on. The flat of your tongue traces lazy trails over his taint, giving him a moment to adjust before you dip lower again. Trevor’s back arches and his arms strain against his binds when you flick your tongue over his rim. He shivers and moans, as if you’ve tickled him, and the smile you shoot up at him is returned with a dazed grin adorned with flushed cheeks. Your hand that has since stilled on his cock continues its movement, and you slip back down between his legs to lick a wet stripe from rim to head. You pull the same tricks he pulls on you, the same tricks he’d loved last time—licking, biting, sucking, waiting, even just  _ breathing _ in the right place makes him moan. Blowing him and eating him out picks him apart far quicker than you could have hoped; by the time you’ve worked yourself into a state, it seems the only thing holding him together is the cables wound around his arms.

Trevor interrupts his own mantra of  _ 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,' _ with a firm cry of your name—he wants your attention. You glance up. He’s quite the sight: his knees raised, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt, chest heaving and saliva glistening on his bottom lip. His arms strain against the cables—you’re not sure they’ll be functional after this. Again, your name drops from his lips like a stone,  _ "Fuck _ me.”

You don’t need to be told twice, but you smirk at him like you're doing  _ him _ a favour; “Now who’s greedy?”

Your legs buzz with numb static as you stand; Trevor’s feet drop to the floor from the coffee table as he huffs a halfhearted snarky reply. Shirt whipped over your head, you wipe your face dry of your own saliva before discarding it to drop your shorts to the floor. Your legs are still shaky, not yet in sync with the rest of your body, and you half fall into Trevor’s chest as you straddle his lap. The heat radiating off him is incredible, even through his shirt he’s sticky. You cup his cheeks and capture his mouth with your own as you grind your core, untouched and deliciously wet, against his length. Trevor’s hum of pleasure is lost in your own sigh, warm breath mingling between open mouths. A hand leaves his jaw to guide his cock to your entrance, and you sink down, taking him suddenly and completely.

The noise you both make is obscene. You rock forwards, stifling your moan in Trevor’s shirt, teeth grazing over his collarbone through the thin cotton. Trevor takes the opportunity to assault the skin of your neck, biting and sucking and soothing whatever he can get his lips on while his hips beneath you struggle to grind. When the euphoria of being filled so quickly subsides, you reciprocate. You fuck him, as requested, but soon lose yourself in the rocking of your bodies, the slick union where it’s unclear where Trevor ends and you begin.

He watches you—you don’t have look at him to know that. With a furrowed brow and slack jaw, his eyes alight with something between lust and love, he watches you bounce on his lap, your head bowed and hand working yourself between you. Release is coming, building in your core like a pipe about to burst; Trevor’s name begins to fall from your lips, and he moans with you.

“Jesus,  _ fuck," _ he growls your name, “untie me!” His hips buck wildly, powerful despite the weight of you atop him.  _ "Please, _ baby, untie me!” His head is tipped back and his eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth agape like he can’t breathe the air. You’ve already pulled the knot on his left arm loose by the time he’s done speaking. Free, he shakes and flexes his arms as you pull the shirt over his head. 

Before it hits the floor, Trevor snatches your waist and lifts you out of his lap, near throwing you on your back into the couch. You laugh in surprise, but there’s only desperation in Trevor’s face as he crawls over you, knotting his fist in your hair at the nape of your neck. His other hand runs up the back of your thigh to push your knee to your chest as he buries his cock to the hilt in the slick of you. His new pace is wild and unrelenting. Kissing is a distant impossibility, and Trevor smothers his cries of  _ ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’ _ in your pounding chest instead. You let your own moans hit the ceiling, writhing under Trevor’s cock and your own fingers as your release returns. You come, and the pipe bursts, dripping down your thighs and Trevor’s pounding hips as you leave angry red lines across his back. He’s quick to follow; after a shout and one last violent thrust, his hips twitch and strain as he babbles nonsense into your neck. He comes and collapses into your still-rolling body, dropping your leg and releasing your hair from his grip. You hardly notice the pain in your scalp as you circle both your arms and legs around him, fingers finding a path to trace softly along his sweat soaked hairline.

“We, uh,”—you pant around your words, lungs straining with fatigue and Trevor’s weight—“we need new controller chargers.”

Trevor laughs, as breathless as you. “Worth it.”

As an afterthought, you add: “And a new couch.”

“Your doing, babe.”

“I’d say it was more of a team effort.”

“Teamwork makes the cream work.” This time when he laughs, he lifts his head to gauge your reaction.

It’s disgust. “No!” You laugh with him and draw the word out, “No, Trevor, you’re horrible!” Arms winding just a little tighter, you rock the two of you side to side as you bask in the warmth of post-sex endorphins and laughter. For a while you stay like that, drifting down from your highs, as you watch the late afternoon sun filter through the window to make Trevor’s skin glow. In the light, the red rings around his forearms catch your attention—you lift one for inspection. “Let me get some stuff for this, Trev.” There’s no blood, but the marks are raw, and he winces when you caress one with your thumb.

Slowly, he sits up and brings you with him, both your bodies as yielding as half dry clay. With a kiss to Trevor’s forehead, you leave him sitting dazed on the couch as you make for the bathroom, sex dripping down the inside of your thighs. You make quick work of cleaning yourself up, collecting a towel and some burn cream before venturing into the kitchen for ice.

When you return, Trevor stands over his Xbox, holding the two stretched and split cables, and his tee shirt. There’s a throw blanket over the couch, and he’s got his shorts back on— _ god, those shorts _ . At your approach he tosses the cables on the coffee table, and exchanges the items in your hands for his shirt. You pull it over your nakedness as he sets the makeshift after-care kit on the armrest, before bundling you to his chest, a content sigh brushing through your hair.

“Love you, y’know that?”

You wind your arms around his waist and press your cheek to the sticky skin of his chest. Your thumbs soothe circles in the small of his back. “Always, Trev.” You tilt your face back, and feel your heart swell at the little smile on his lips. “I love you, too.”

His mouth is warm and soft against your own. A gentle melding of lips before he pulls you both into the rest of the afternoon spent on the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> Karla is responsible for this.


End file.
